


Hidden In Our Back Garden

by ValeCimmerian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeCimmerian/pseuds/ValeCimmerian
Summary: Crowley walks into the bookshop one afternoon to find Aziraphale trying very hard to plant something, and failing. He helps.





	Hidden In Our Back Garden

Crowley had known Aziraphale for quite a while by now (understatement of the century), and he liked to think he had the angel pretty well figured out. Aziraphale, he had discovered, was many things. Most of them were far too sentimental and soft to even mutter beneath his breath, but one thing he was not, was unpredictable. The angel hadn't changed his outfit for centuries (although that wasn't for Crowley's lack of trying), went back to the same restaurants and bakeries with frustrating persistency that went beyond convenience, and sat in the same armchair every single morning. Which made all this the more surprising. 

When Crowley walked through the door of his shop this morning, cheerfully ignoring the 'Closed' sign, he expected Aziraphale to be sat behind the desk, researching and tracking down some rare first edition, or else in the back room reading an old friend. When he was not, Crowley walked all the way to the back of the shop, calling out his angel's name. There was door that was always closed, ajar. Crowley opened it, and looked through Aziraphale was knelt in the back garden, a small square boxed in on every side by walls and a veritable suntrap, and appeared to be attempting to garden. Crowley didn't even know they- he, he, it wasn't like they lived together or something- had a garden out here. Aziraphale looked up to greet him.   
'Crowley! My dear, I didn't hear you come in.' Aziraphale beamed at him. It shouldn't have been quite as endearing as it was. His usually clean cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, bowtie knocked askew, the buttons of his waistcoat either partly undone or shifted sideways. There was dirt everywhere; up his forearms, along the collar of his shirt, on the knees and thighs of his already brown trousers, and somehow there was a smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose. He ran a hand through his hair. Dirt seemed to trickle out.   
'Aziraphale, what on earth are you doing?' Crowley stood leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a faint smirk drifting across his face. Aziraphale huffed (and Crowley had to quell a bubble of affection at his gently pouting angel) 'Didn't you have enough of gardening when influencing Warlock?'   
'Well..' The angel rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, the light catching in his curls just so and to Crowley for a moment he looked like the picture of forgiveness. 'I didn't actually grow anything then..' His voice was small and quiet as though he hoped Crowley wouldn't actually hear, quite enjoying the faintly amused look on Crowley's face.   
'You what?'   
'I just kind of... Miracled the plants better when I killed them. And I tried to grow plants before in my bedroom, like you do, but they all died too and I didn't have the heart to bring them back to life just to kill them again so I read some books and they said you needed good soil and sunlight and regular watering and- why are you looking at me like that?' Somewhere in the pleasant babble of Aziraphale's worried words Crowley had brought a hand up to his face and was running an errant thumb along his lip. It was delightfully distracting. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I was just-' Crowley stopped him with a short, light laugh.   
'Angel, I find your efforts frankly endearing. Just, all these gardening efforts, so suddenly? Reminds me a little of Eden.'   
Aziraphale's frown faded a little. 'Ah yes, Eden. The beginning of rather a few things.'   
'Wouldn't go back though.'   
'Ah, goodness no. Not with all this.. Well. Yes.'   
For the first time, Crowley actually looked at what Aziraphale was doing. Really looked (because Aziraphale himself was a glowing constant distraction).   
'What books did you read?' Aziraphale did his pleased little wiggle, and listed a number of 16th century horticultural texts, mostly written by scribes who had never been near a plant (all rare first editions, of course). Crowley sighed gently, unfolding his arms and walking towards the low wooden planter sat firmly in the grass.   
'Angel, they're all so outdated. Did you read anything from after the 19th century?' Aziraphale looked down, away from Crowley's quirked-up lips (not mockery, more an attempt to hide an intense attraction) (little did Crowley know Aziraphale too was escaping the distraction of those lips). 'Or maybe google something?'   
'What's a Google?' Another gentle sigh from his demon prompted Aziraphale's top lip to begin quivering. 'If I'm not doing it right you could at least help me.' Crowley's face remained the same. 'Please?'   
If there was anything Crowley couldn't resist, it was Aziraphale pleading. He'd get this soft, sad look in his eyes, looking up from under slightly furrowed brows, and would look so mournful Crowley would do anything to make his angel smile again. He was pretty damn sure Aziraphale knew it too. Still, he complied.   
'Alright.' Crowley knelt just opposite Aziraphale. The planter was actually quite small. They'd been closer, sure, but not without the excuse of bottles of wine between them or the fire of anger to blame. Suddenly Aziraphale was very aware of his breathing. 'What have you got here?'   
'I.. Uh..' Aziraphale blinked. 'I've put dirt in a box!'   
'Yes, well done. Do you have any seeds, or seedlings?' Aziraphale waved a little sachet of seeds at him. Wildflowers, for attracting butterflies. 'You want to open it up, like this, and scatter them around the area- not too close together! That's it. Now, spread another layer of soil just gently over the top and water them slightly.' Aziraphale waved a hand over the dirt and it was damp. It earned him a reproachful glance from Crowley.   
'What! I want them to have the best chance of growing.'   
' I thought you wanted to do it properly'   
'I do!' Aziraphale's slightly whiny, pretending-to-complain voice never failed to make Crowley genuinely smile. 'I'm.. I'm a little afraid it's a sign I'm not a very good angel.' The last bit was spoken so quietly it was more like a breath than words, but Crowley heard and softened. He placed a long-fingered hand over Aziraphale's, still outstretched and beginning to recoil, pressing it down onto the soil. Aziraphale complied easily.   
'Angel,' Crowley whispered, staring right through his soul, ' This soil? It is good soil.' And he wasn't talking about plants anymore. 'There is an honest, good-hearted person residing and thriving and growing here. These seeds will grow well.' What he wanted to say was that this place was filled with love, a constant and overwhelming sensation always there when he arrived. Aziraphale felt the warmth of Crowley's hand laying on his, so gently and so unlike his demon, his fast-paced demon that had hurtled him through the centuries.   
'Thank you, my dear'   
They stayed like that, the warmth and affection Crowley couldn't even admit to himself filling the air and causing the grass under their feet to suddenly grow up to their waists. Aziraphale giggled.   
'How on earth did you get dirt there?' Crowley mumbled more to himself than anyone else, reaching the other hand over to rub the smudge from his nose. Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly. 'Don't get smug, Angel, I'm just tempting you.' He hummed in response, knowing that wasn't quite the truth. (Far from it- Crowley was barely lying to himself in this moment) The thumb removing dirt from his nose was gentle (and mostly ineffective), the hand it was attached to drifting down to cup Aziraphale's soft chin after a little while. The angel leaned his head softly into his demon's rare, barely guarded touch. Suddenly and swiftly, like a snake, Aziraphale's remaining hand gently 'booped' Crowley on the tip of his elegantly executed nose.   
(Crowley.exe has stopped working)   
Crowley stopped blinking, breathing or moving. His hand stilled from where it had been stroking Aziraphale's cheek. His eyes were slightly wide, or Aziraphale imagined they would be.   
'Angel, I.. Uh.. What?' Crowley eventually made a series of incoherent noises, slightly withdrawing his hand. Aziraphale couldn't contain his smile.   
'I believe, my dear Crowley, I have just 'booped' you. '   
'What?'   
'Just accept it and move on.'   
Crowley hissed and frowned, almost imperceptably, before leaning back to properly look at Aziraphale in his dishevelled glory.   
'Aziraphale.' He held his chin in his 'thinking' pose. He thought it made him look suave and cool. (Secretly, Aziraphale thought it was very attractive, although he could never let that be known. Crowley's ego was big enough as it was.) 'You never did tell me- Why the plants now?'   
Aziraphale blushed, ducking his head.   
'Promise you won't laugh.' Crowley raised his eyebrows. 'Okay, well.. Oh, what the hell. I wanted you to spend more time here and I know you like having plants around even if you yell at them so I thought if I got plants you might stay more often because I like you being here. Alright?' Aziraphale's sentences all ran into one another, colliding in a single chaotic breath. Crowley stopped again. 'I'm sorry..'   
The sunglasses came off, rattling away on the floor, and Crowley's open vulnerable eyes showed all the warmth he felt, echoed in the sudden brightening of the world around them as the sun came out from behind the clouds. Crowley threw himself at Aziraphale, heedless of the dirt-box between them (somewhere in this exchange it found itself across the square from them. Arms wrapped tightly around the angel, a face buried in his scruffy shirt. Aziraphale wrapped himself around his demon. Said demon breathed in deeply, committing the scent to memory.   
'You want me here' Crowley mumbled slightly, barely able to believe it.   
'Of course, dearest.'   
Their embrace tightened, and behind them the beginnings of plants had begun to sprout up from where they had just planted seeds together.


End file.
